


Don't Die

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Coupling (UK)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-21
Updated: 2005-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve turns up drunk. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Die

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Doyle

 

 

"Morning Jane."  
"Hi Steve!"  
"Have you changed?"  
"Yes I have."  
"Where did you get the clothes?"  
"Well you said that I couldn't leave any clothes here, because you had absolutely no spare room in your wardrobe?"  
"Yes..."  
"Well, when you were in the shower I ran home and changed so my clothes would be clean enough to last until tomorrow."

Jeff hadn't been expecting Steve to crash through the door in quite so haphazard a manner, though it did happen a lot. Once a week Steve would turn up, knocking furiously at the door, forgetting that Jeff had given him a key to use in just such circumstances. He would bang until Jeff answered, stumble in the door rambling about something Jane related, before collapsing asleep on the couch. Jeff would stand back as he careened into the living-room, nod understandingly as he rambled, and finally, pull the spare blanket over his head before going back to bed.

(Or at least, that was what he told Steve whenever Steve woke up the next morning, apologising profusely yet again. He didn't mention smoothing Steve's hair down so it wouldn't stick up crazily the next morning. Or how he once stood for half an hour pacing back and forth, debating in his head whether Steve was unconscious enough to risk kissing him on the forehead. He didn't risk it the end, but when he found that Steve had slept through falling of the couch he wished he had.)

Jeff understood about Jane. She was a lovely girl, in the right context and dosage, but he didn't think he could handle actually going out with her. (Though he did like to listen when she got a bit drunk and started talking about lesbianism.) He could understand how occasionally she might get to be a bit much and Steve would need to cut loose from her for a night. He never quite got why Steve couldn't do that at his own flat, but didn't really feel like he could ask.

(He didn't really mind after all. Steve looked so peaceful as he slept on the couch, and he was so flustered the next morning, his cheek covered in pillow-creases. And how grateful he was for the chance to sleep, and for the tea Jeff always made without asking every morning. Two sugars, a drop of milk.)

(And how he smiled in that sleepy way in the mornings, one eye closed and slightly biting his lip)

"Right, I need the toilet."  
"Now? I've just sat down. Anyone would think you were trying to avoid me."  
"Don't be silly. Why would anyone think that?"  
"Yeah, if he wanted to avoid you he'd just say he was working late."  
"Shut up Patrick."  
"Don't worry Steve. I know you were late last night because the alarm system broke and you had to stay on until the night watchman arrived."

Steve went home early that night. He had an early start the next morning. Jeff didn't see him again for three days. Before he turned up at the door again. It took Jeff a few minutes to realize that this time, he wasn't drunk. Instead, he wandered slowly into the room before sitting heavily on the couch. This meant coffee. Black, three sugar.

"Thanks."

He sat for a few moments, drinking the coffee slowly, not speaking at all.

"Are you alright?"  
"Yes."  
"Okay. I wasn't sure if I should ask, in case something horrible had happened, and mentioning it would just make it worse. But then I thought that maybe you needed to be asked, in case you felt you needed to talk about it, and then it would be worse if I didn't ask. But then what if you do want to talk about it, but don't think that you do, and then if I asked you'd get upset, even though..."  
"Jeff?"  
"...You really, subconsciously do want to talk about it and then if I didn't ask you you'd think you were okay but you really wouldn't..."  
"Jeff?"  
"Oh. Sorry."

He stopped talking and sat down at the very edge of the couch. Steve finished his coffee. Jeff sat down heavily on the edge of the couch, drumming his fingers on his coffee cup. Steve slowly drank his coffee, and was it just him, or did Jeff feel him shifting towards him on the couch?

It wasn't just him.

Steve was shifting closer. Seconds later, Jeff froze as Steve lay his hand on his shoulder. Should he put his arm around his shoulder? Or just pat him on the back? Or do nothing? He should pat him at least...

That was stupid. What was he thinking patting him on the back? That was just...stupid. Had he noticed? It didn't look like it, so at least that was okay. Should he try the arm-around-shoulder move? He should. Shouldn't he? Or should he?

He did.

Steve didn't move.

Jeff tried squeezing him a little tighter.

This time, Steve pulled himself closer, wrapping his arm around Jeff's middle.

Jeff squeezed a little tighter.

This time, Steve murmured slightly, and Jeff froze. But the murmur didn't sound bad, so Jeff kept squeezing.

Steve squeezed Jeff tighter, and Jeff had to concentrate very hard on breathing. It seemed to work, and he wasn't dead yet.

Steve shifted his head slightly, and suddenly his forehead was against Jeff's neck.

Breath. Don't die.

He was trying, but wasn't sure how much longer it would last.

Steve shifted again, and suddenly his nose was nuzzling Jeff's jaw and Jeff had to keep his eyes staring dead ahead, reciting times tables in his mind.

He got to two fours are eight before Steve shifted again and his lips were only millimetres away from Jeff's neck and he had to think of something more boring then multiplication.

Thatcher in a miniskirt usually did the trick.

Usually.

But when Steve's lips actually crossed those few tiny millimetres and brushed against his neck not even that worked.

Jeff shifted carefully, trying to prevent Steve from possible discovering exactly how not distracter he was.

Thatcher in a PVC miniskirt, Thatcher in a PVC miniskirt...

_John Major in latex! John Major in latex!_

Steve seemed to wake up. Jeff couldn't think of anything more disgusting, and tried to jump out of the way.

Steve's hand was resting on Jeff's knee. Their eyes met, and...

...Was Steve shifting his hand up his leg?

He was.

Their eyes met, and Steve leaned in an brushed his lips against Jeff's'.

Breathe. Don't die.

_Breathe, Don't Die._

 


End file.
